When We Met
by crearealidad
Summary: Brennan pays Angela a visit after a rough evening...


Summary: Brennan pays Angela a visit after a bad evening.  
Spoilers/Warnings: Set in early season two, contains femslash  
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters or their stories. Seriously.  
Beta: Thank you to nostarnights, because she's awesome.

Written for Fragments of Sappho 2008 **at **doggedbymuses over on Livejournal

Fragment #24:

_in her youth it was a great  
ornament if someone had hair  
bound with purple-_

_a very great ornament indeed  
But for the one who has hair yellower  
than a pinetorch_

_crowns  
of blooming flowers  
and just lately a headbinder_

* * *

**When We Met**

I'm nearly ready for bed when there's a knock on the door. Glancing down, I consider grabbing a robe to cover the thin t-shirt and boxer shorts that are my pajamas, but when the knocking turns to pounding, I reject the idea and head for the door.

My breath catches in my throat when I open the door and find Brennan standing there wearing that dress. Immediately I wonder if she even remembers that she was wearing it the first time we met, at a gallery opening. Of course, she had no idea that I'd been hypnotized by the sight of her all night, by the way all that shimmering red fabric had clung to her lithe form. While the dress was still the same, it hung differently and I had to resist the urge to bring my hands to the soft curve of her hip where the fabric pulled a bit more snuggly than I remembered.

"Can I come in, Ange?"

I managed somehow to step aside, pushing aside the memories, and let her in, my pulse rising rapidly as I catch the scent of the delicate white flowers she has arranged in her shining hair. She begins pacing as I turn to lock the door and ask, "What's wrong, sweetie?"

Brennan doesn't immediately look up, just continues pacing and I can stop staring at the slit that keeps giving me glimpses of her long legs. It had been years since I'd last seen her like this and the sight of all that strategically revealed skin is rekindling my appreciation of her beauty. She's already ranting about phony people and the skeezy men who'd approached her at this event her publisher had forced her to attend, but I hear none of it.

In my mind, I've already peeled away that dress and I have her splayed out on a bed before me. My hands are exploring the creamy texture of her skin and my eyes are trying memorize the varieties of pinks, creams and peaches that make up her skin.

In reality, I've taken the seat next to her and I can't focus on anything but the way she's moving beneath the fabric. Leaned forward, the dress hangs loosely at the front, baring more of her breasts than it already had, the view heightened by her quick breaths and the flush that's rising from her little tirade.

Under the guise of comforting her, I move a hand to rest on her thigh, now clearly outlined by the heavy satin. She doesn't seem to notice, still busy venting her frustration. The heat is rolling off her in waves and my eyes are suddenly drawn upward by the flash of a lock of her auburn hair coming loose from the clips that are holding it to her head.

Abruptly she stops talking, her brow crinkling as she tries to figure out what I'm staring at. "Ange, did you hear a word I just said?"

I barely manage to refrain laughing as she stares at me quizzically. "Yeah, I heard you, stupid people… fancy party… all a bunch of fakes. We go through this every time you have to go to one of these things. I don't know why you don't start taking a date."

"Because then they all just assume that we're dating. And I don't know which is worse," she replied, leaning back against the couch with a heavy sigh.

A delicious amount of her throat is left exposed as she closes her eyes and I have to get up in order to keep myself from touching it. "Well next time, you should just take me." The words escape my mouth of their own volition as I move towards the kitchen to get you a beer.

I return and hand you a beer, cracking open on for myself, grateful that you didn't appear phased by my comment. Once we've each taken a drink, I say, "Now tell me more about this party…"

* * *

I open my fifth beer of the night as Brennan slumps lazily against my shoulder. My awareness of her body has only grown as the alcohol hit my system until every inch of me was tingling. She's nearly dozing, having had more than twice the amount that I'd had, and somehow my hand is resting on fairly high up on her thigh and one of her hands has made it's way to rest on my stomach. Her fingertips curl against me as she shifts and I feel the flowers in her hair scratching roughly against my neck.

Gently, I try to sit her upright, her eyelids fluttering slightly at my efforts.

"Sweetie, I think it's time to get you to bed. But you're going to have to help me."

I tug on her arm and she sits upright as I get to my feet. She shakes her head, blinking a few times before looking up at me. "Would you really go with me?"

My heart stops as I look down at her. She just means as friend, I remind myself. "Of course, Bren. But right now we need to get you out of that dress and into bed."

A wavering giggle escapes from her lips as she pushes herself up and off the couch, the thin strap of the dress drifting down her shoulder. "What's wrong with my dress?"

"There's nothing wrong with it, it's beautiful—"

She waivers on her feet slightly, but then takes my hand and starts leading me back towards the bedroom. "Do you remember when we met? You stared at me all night…"

I stop in my tracks, watching her continue towards the bedroom.

She turns around and looks at me, her hands coming to her hips as she asks, "What? Did you think that I didn't notice? I think of it every time I wear this dress." But then she surprises me by ducking her head, hiding those shining eyes from my view.

There's an awkward pause then as we each stare at the floor. I'm not sure what she's thinking, but I can't seem to keep my hands from shaking as I try to decide what she meant. Taking a chance, I glance up to find her still looking down, even more of those burning curls falling around her down-turned face.

With a deep breath, I step towards her, taking one of her hands and lead her back to my bedroom, guiding her until she's sitting on the edge of the bed. My hands are still shaking and she's still not looking. This is definitely uncomfortable and on an impulse, I bring my hand to her chin and make her look up. At first, she resists, but she finally acquiesces, I find that she's blushing and a little breathless.

"You do know it's not the dress I was staring at, right?"

She surprises me then by nuzzling her face into my palm, pressing her lips against my fingers as she whispers, "Then what were you staring at?"

"Well, it's not these silly flowers, that's for sure," I reply, tugging the dried weeds from her hair and casting them aside with a laugh. They tug strands of her hair loose and she winces as I pull them free.

I'm about to say something when I look down at her face and realize she's coming closer. In a moment, her lips find mine, her hand slipping behind my neck to pull me closer still as her mouth opens against mine. Her lips move slowly and lightly across mine until I manage to allow them to open. Then her tongue I sliding along my lip and against the edges of my teeth as her other hand slides down my side to rest on my hip. She tastes like beer and like something heavy and sweet, cake perhaps, from her party.

After only a few short moments, she pulls back just enough to break our contact as her hand falls on my bare thigh. "Ange…" she whispers, just before her lips meet mine once again. This times our mouths are open against one another and hands slide upwards beneath my shirt, tugging me down until into the kiss. I pull back from the kiss just long enough to mutter something about her dress. It's unintelligible, but she understands, rising from the bed and guiding my hand to the zipper along the side of the dress.

I struggle to tug it down, but her lips won't relent and my hand fumble uselessly in it's attempts. Her hips rock against my own as she pushes away my hand with a frustrated groan and pulls the zipper free herself. I can feel the slack in the fabric immediately and my hands slide the straps down off of her shoulders, peeling the dress away from my ultimate desitination.

As it falls to the floor, my hands rake up her stomach, finding her bare breasts and rolling roughly over the her soft nipples. They harden at my touch and I can feel her nails digging into my back. I wrench my lips from hers; pressing lingering kisses along her jaw and throat and chest until my tongue find her breasts. She groans as I suck the first nipple into my mouth. I glance up at her as I roll my tongue over the tense point and manage to murmur, "Take down your hair. I love you hair."

She laughs at me then, pulling her warm hands off of my back, arching as she tugs the clips from her hair, sending the silky length of her hair tumbling down in stages. I suppress my groan against her breast as I feel the ends tickling my face, far softer than the flowers.

Suddenly, she's falling back on the bed, auburn hair curling around her face as she tugs my t-shirt over my head and our torsos press together from waist to breast. I can feel her heart pounding and her unsteady breaths. Her head lifts to bring her mouth to my neck. She's practically panting against me, those soft lips grazing against my skin, leaving a humid, heated trail to my collarbone.

I feel like my body is on fire as she writhes beneath me, pushing away her underwear and my boxer shorts while I'm struggling to breath. Her blue eyes blaze wildly as I gaze down at her, all that brilliant waving hair fanned out around her head. She is stunning, even more so because I now feel nearly every heated inch of her beneath me.

My hand finds its way to her muscular thigh, teasing my fingers along the insides until I find her wet folds. With one finger, I tease the full length of her, pausing only a moment to tease the tip of her clit, reveling in the feel of her muscles trembling beneath me. She whimpers and struggles to shift to bring my finger more firmly against her, but I won't relent, keeping my strokes slow, steady and feather-light. "You're so wet, Bren. God, I never imagined…"

Her mouth finds mine then, swallowing my moan as her thigh comes to press against my crotch, grinding roughly against my clit. I can still smell those flowers as my lips crash against hers. I'm struggling for breath and inhaling their light scent mingled with her arousal and I can feel my chest swell with anticipation.

When her hips begin to buck against my hand, I give in, ending my teasing torture. I press two fingers against her clit, rolling softly at first, then building, feeling the quick jolting quiver that shoots through her with each movement of my fingers. Her mouth is struggling to express her excitement, biting down on my tongue and my lip, and when I cry out, she resumes her devouring at my neck, suckling the sensitive flesh until I'm certain that's she going to break the skin.

Her voice is harsh and dry as she asks me to enter her. I can feel the roughness of her voice heading straight to my center, further igniting my desire. I can't deny her, not when she looks and feels better than any dream or memory could have. My fingers tease her clit a moment longer before sliding inside of her and I can feel her back arch, pushing her stomach and hips up into me with such force that I'm nearly toppled. My fingers push in a second time and a moan breaks from her lips.

This is why I was staring.

My free hand is clinging to her sides, pulling her hips into me as though if we were close enough, we would melt into one. I thrust into her harder then, increasing my tempo until I can feel her beginning to clench and quivering around my fingers. I'm desperate to push her over the edge, curling my hand so that with each thrust, the heel of my hand drives against her clit. I can feel her teeth and her lips against my collarbone and I feel my own wetness against her thigh. She's so close now, her eyes closed and her head thrown back.

I can feel her fingers grasping at my ass, pushing me against her thigh as it moves in time with her bucking hips. The feeling is almost too much and I feel whimpers and moans escaping from my lips that I don't remember rising.

And then she's coming. Her muscles quivering and shaking around me and I can't seem to take my eyes from her face. I can feel the tremors running through her body and keep thrusting inside of her as I was the pleasure suffuse her features, tinting them pink and leaving her red-hot to the touch. Even her fingers that are grasping at my hips are shaking roughly. She cries out roughly, a low, guttural moan that lacks any word or form.

I watch her features slowly cool, her mouth still turned up in a broad grin. When her eyes finally flutter open, they come immediately to my face, one eyebrow cocked in question. Her lips part as though to speak, but nothing comes out.

My hand drifts along her torso, feeling her chest still heaving, struggling to catch up. "This," I tell her, sweeping my other hand down the length of her body, "Is what caught my eye. The rest… It's got nothing on you."

I'm not surprised when she rolls her eyes, then rolls our bodies until she's on top of me.

"I still think it's the dress…"


End file.
